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Cutting Ties [Worm Altpower, Complete]

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This is one of the best fics I've read in a log while. Social fu is op and best worm power. And dammit you are making me want to ship Taylor with people I never thought to ship her with. Well played.
 
Harbin said:
There was a girl sitting on the porch when Taylor arrived home. Taylor blinked. She looked around, but didn't really see anywhere else to go, worry swelling. Not for herself, but for her father.

"Hey, Taylor," the girl said, waving. "Boy, have I got a deal for you. I'm alone. No worries."
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*inarticulate sound of rage*

What will it take for you to just stab her!? I know it's not where your mental place is any more but for crying out loud...
 
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2.11
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    • 2.11​

    "My boss. Not a very nice guy at times." Lisa said.

    "Yes, I know."

    Lisa chuckled, smiled, then shook her head. "Sorry. I was very angry when we last met, both because I thought my boss had been lying—and honestly I kind of wanted to piss you off. I thought it'd get you to back off. I went too far."

    "Okay," said Taylor.

    "You're all kinds of infuriating, you know that? Last time you were just this gigantic knot. It was fun to poke you. Also, god, Faultline? Seriously?"

    "She's nice," Taylor said, thinking about tea.

    "Hn. Okay. Whatever. I'm not here to try get into an argument, as much as I like it. So, her shit aside, my employer wishes to make reparations. Since this is an exceedingly good time for it, he has—" Lisa's face contorted, just a bit, as she sighed, then grit her teeth, "—deigned to offer this."

    Lisa reached two fingers into a pouch, and removed a usb drive. She placed it on the table, then pushed it to Taylor.

    "What is it?" Taylor stared at it, not touching it.

    "The real names of each and every Empire 88 member. My employer was thinking of blaming it on Rune, actually. But since you've decided to take an interest in her—" Lisa was more pissed than before, if possible. "—he has decided to leave the conclusion of this, up to you."

    "You're serious. Why?" Taylor struggled not to look visibly horrified. They were villains. Did they deserve this? Maybe. Maybe not, but this would have—consequences. For many people, not just those that they knew. Lisa had said this, when they'd first met. Victoria, Amy, had both compounded upon this.

    "Honestly? Probably so he can foist the fall off onto you, then onto me. Three layers of deniability, if you blame someone else first. My employer enjoys controlling variables, and you're something that is difficult to control. Killing you is difficult and likely to bring repercussions—you weren't supposed to get shot and nearly die." Lisa smirked at Taylor's incredulous expression. "He thinks—well, that's not as important. TMI."

    "Why play coy now?" Taylor asked, as she glanced over at the stove. It was easy to talk with Lisa, to banter and discuss. "You came here with an objective in mind."

    "Well, kind of. Good job making up with your dad, by the by. I'm happy to see that. Not everyone gets that opportunity. Have you told him?"

    "Kind of. Not quite everything. I will, once this is done, he deserves to know."

    "Mm. Water's ready."

    Taylor stood, walking over to the pot. "So it is. What kind of tea do you want?"

    "Got white tea?"

    "White Jasmine," Taylor said.

    "Sure."

    "How do you take it?"

    "Give it to me straight, doc."

    "Alright," Taylor prepared the tea, standing there while it steeped. Her mind was flowing from point to point, quickly, slowly, always moving. All her thoughts were directed toward one singular point. "How do you think I should do this?"

    "I'm honestly surprised I got this far. Well, kind of surprised. I had a hunch, but I didn't think I'd be having tea. As for the USB, this stuff is pretty dirty. Many things can be said about the Empire, but they're not stupid." Lisa pursed her lips, pondering. "You could just toss it, but I think my boss might leak the info anyway."

    "Hm."

    "You could blame someone. Hell, you could blame me, but you don't seem to want blood on your hands. You could turn me in, along with the info. Pretty sure my boss has contacts inside the PRT, which would get this potentially spun on you, depending. Oh, before I forget," Lisa didn't forget, she just wanted to say it. "That's some admirable restraint you showed about Shadow Stalker. No reports, no nothin'. After all that?"

    "Mm." Taylor served the mug of tea, placing the other in front of herself. "On topic, please."

    "Yeah, yeah. Mm. The tea isn't bad."

    Taylor smiled, shaking her head. "Okay. So, it's a nice big honey trap for me, or a nice target on my back, in the form of a gift."

    "Conceivably, it's just a gift. If you're really good at staying out of the limelight and avoiding blame. Alternatively, you could ah, take a look at the drive, see the members, and well—"

    "You already did."

    "I already did."

    Taylor chuckled. "Jesus, Lisa. You make the cat look like a manual, not a cautionary tale. After all the shit you said."

    "A little. It's fun knowing things, y'know? Besides, do as I say, not as I do, etcetera. I'm a hypocrite." Lisa shrugged, then smirked. "Knowing who Purity is? Primo drama. Like, you couldn't get this shit off soap operas."

    "Hm," said Taylor. "Once that information is out, it's out. There's no taking it back or reversing it."

    "Yeah. Pandora's box, except the last thing in there is a very angry Kaiser."

    "I'm pretty sure Hookwolf would be more appropriate," Taylor said, then sipped at the tea.

    "I'm pretty sure Hookwolf wouldn't care if his name was sprayed on the Rig, honestly. He doesn't exactly radiate subtlety."

    "Fair enough," Taylor agreed. "Objectively speaking, I'm getting the distinct feeling like your boss does not care for people on the grand scheme of things."

    "Objectively speaking I'd say he definitely cares for his personal well-being." Lisa's smile grew wider at that. "Honestly though, I think this is more of a destabilizer and means to grab power."

    "Mm." Taylor refilled Lisa's mug.

    "Thanks."

    Taylor spoke. "No problem. So you have a plan."

    It wasn't a question, a statement, a certainty.

    "Yeah. My plan is to try not to die in the ensuing bloodbath that results, no matter what way this goes."

    "Hm," said Taylor. "I don't like that plan."

    "Yeah, well, I had to start with the good one. Honestly, I think this is all a very bad idea. Somebody, somewhere, has to be a scapegoat for this kind of shit. It's attacking families, who, while they may be married to racists, don't deserve to be taken into—this shit. It's effective, though. Insanely so." Lisa shrugged, then sipped.

    "You helped."

    "Kind of. I did the groundwork, but I thought it was just stuff to pull weaknesses and potential blackmail stuff. This is just—blowing the entire thing wide open. Throws shit around like someone loaded it into a leafblower. Not a good idea for anyone."

    Taylor tilted her head at that particular bit of mental imagery. "So."

    "So, I want to know why he's willing to give this particular bit of leverage up. I imagine it's kind of like holding a nuclear deterrent, and he sent me over here, just to give it to you. I mean, he's obviously got other copies, but—"

    "The person who shot me turned up dead, supposedly."

    "Probably some patsy. A scapegoat."

    "I like fighting people. I don't like killing people. Or people ending up dead because of me."

    "Man, Faultline must love you," Lisa said, with an eyeroll and a look off to the side.

    "We get along fine," Taylor said, "She irritates you?"

    Lisa waved a hand. "Back on topic."

    Taylor laughed. "So it's okay when you do it. Fine. I'd like to discuss it with Rune, first."

    "I think it's because he wants you aimed away from him, honestly. That's my best guess." Lisa smirked. "But he'll need an answer soon. Three to five days, max. To do something with it, or it gets released, I think."

    "Okay," said Taylor. "Give me your number, and I'll get back to you. Honestly, I'd like it if you could tell him not to do it."

    "Alright." Lisa rose from the table, scribbling numbers on a napkin before shoving it over. "Uh, hey."

    "Yes?"

    "Truce?" Lisa said, suddenly. She stared at Taylor for a moment. "Yeah, nevermind. Let me know about the USB."

    Taylor opened her mouth, closed it, then shrugged. "Call me when this is over. Not right now."

    Lisa left, shutting the door quietly behind her; Taylor was left alone with her thoughts, and two empty mugs.

    Taylor picked up the drive cautiously, almost expecting it to bite. A lot of information. Was this also a trap? Lisa seemed to think that the trap would come later, not now. Lisa had also said that she didn't want Taylor shot, and Taylor believed her there too, although there were some mitigating circumstances. She didn't hate Lisa. She felt regret and fear when she looked at the other girl. It was a curious feeling, that made her chest ache, and definitely not in a romantic way, more the psychosomatic feeling of 'I was shot while you insulted me in terrible ways.'

    "Hm," Taylor said. She slid it into her jacket pocket, went upstairs, and sat on the bed for a long while, just thinking.

    She didn't feel very tired. Whoever Lisa's employer was, he knew where Taylor lived. If he could get this information, then he could come for her. Why hadn't he? He didn't want her dead?

    Lisa had said that the shooting was a 'mistake.' What sort of mistake? A misfire? Someone's trigger finger slipping?

    No. Taylor took out the balisong, idly flipping it. Why? He knew something that she didn't? Perhaps she'd gotten into too many people's good graces, too fast? There was a connection, somewhere.

    She just had to find it.

    There was an implicit threat in knowing who she was and where she lived, and then simply handing her this information. Her father was an acceptable target. She was an acceptable target. Even if Lisa hadn't agreed to the mess, Taylor was in it now. If she moved against the employer, or got Dad to move to safety, there was no guarantee he wouldn't anticipate and move against her. And even worse—

    Poor Heather, Taylor thought, shaking her head. Who could help? In this sort of situation, with this sort of thing? Faultline? Maybe. It was worth asking for advice from the dubious mercenary. Professionalism came with the territory. She could go to the PRT, but Lisa had implied there was potential consequences with that as well.

    And that was if the drive wasn't a trap to begin with. Taylor sent a text to Heather, then to Faultline.

    It seemed like she'd be telling her father sooner rather than later.
     
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    • Congratulations, Coil, she's Thinking about you now.
    Not to mention talking to Lisa repeatedly... and she knows you have very quick information sources in E88, since Rune joining Taylor is very recent.
     
    I'm picturing Coil ordering the shot in one timeline, and Taylor dodging, and then, in another timeline, the mercenary takes the shot of his own volition, and it works.
    I still don't know if that's how it works, but that's my impression.
     
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    Fumbles said:
    I'm picturing Coil ordering the shot in one timeline, and Taylor dodging, and then, in another timeline, the mercenary takes the shot of his own volition, and it works.
    I still don't if that's how it works, but that's my impression.
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    That may be accurate, the man taking the shot on his own volition wouldn't trigger the Broadcast's Shard Precognition. It could also be argued that Coil directing a goon to shoot would also work, but an argument could be made against, so eh.
     
    2.12
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    • 2.12​

    The sky was dark, cloudy, and muted. The moon hid behind those, peeking out from time to time, a sliver that wished it was something bigger. It felt like the inverse of what Taylor wanted, with moments measured in subdued whispers and forlorn chats. Taylor went down the hall, gently waking her father with that same subdued whisper, slowly shaking his shoulder until he roused.

    "T'lr?" Danny whispered, staring at her, blinking sleep away. "'verything okay?"

    "Sorry, Dad. Have to talk."

    "Not—leaving again?" There was hurt in his eyes, real hurt, as the sleep faded faster, and Taylor flinched.

    "No. No, sorry Dad, this is just important. It can't wait until morning. I'm sorry."

    "Okay," Danny said, raising a hand to rub at his nose and eyes, doing his best to push sleep away.

    "I'll wait downstairs," Taylor said, exiting the room; she sat on the stairs, her trembling hands on her knees. Lisa wasn't a problem, but three words from her father, still half-asleep—it was almost humorous. She breathed in and out, and her trembling hands slowed, then stilled. Taylor stood, making her way down the steps slowly, sitting down in the living room. Danny didn't take long.

    He sat down.

    Taylor opened her jacket up, taking the paper bag out, putting it on the table. Then her knives, one by one. There were twelve, in all. Then she unfolded the paper bag, taking the small bundles of cash out, and laying them on the table. That was the easy part. It was all done to push herself forward, make it irreversable, so that she couldn't step back, couldn't change her words midway, like she might have; it would be so easy to do, to shift the conversation, to say it was dangerous because of something or other—but this was important. So dearly important.

    "Dad, I'm a parahuman." There. It was out, in the open, the secret put to pasture. It made the rest easier, by necessity. She had to explain the knives, she had to explain the money, before he thought of bad things. "I've been working for Faultline. I've committed no crimes, I'm being paid for a—consultation-ish position. It's a bit complicated and confidential, but I'm helping someone, not hurting them. I have the power to project bladed edges."

    Taylor picked up a sheet of paper, then the penknife; extending the edge, she cut through the paper without the blade touching it. Her father was silent.

    "I got involved in something that is much bigger than myself. I want you to be safe. I want to be safe. I need to figure out what to do, but I want to know that you're safe, first."

    Danny still didn't say anything. Taylor set the penknife back down on the table, pressing her fingers down before lifting her empty hand away. The paper was crumpled between her hands. She missed the trash can.

    "When were you going to tell me?"

    "I—was going to tell you pieces of it, not all. I think. That I was working, that I had money I could use to help." Taylor laughed. It was one that felt screwed up and wrong, secrets exposed before they were ready. Well, less secrets, more a surprise. There had been a plan, somewhere along the way. She had wanted to buy him something, something new; something to take the edge off those memories derived from staring at those statues on the mantlepiece, the picture of all three of them as a family. It was another delaying tactic. Another thing she had wanted to hold off on—but her intentions were better, this time. She thought. "I wanted to do something. If I could, I should. If I keep doing what I'm doing, I'll have enough for a good college, and I'll be able to help with finances. I wanted to break the news…" When? "...Soon." Taylor frowned, the sentence's lame finish feeling like another betrayal.

    "Taylor."

    Taylor jerked upright, her back straight, her hands on her knees. She wanted to stand, to pace, to move. She stayed still, sitting. "Yes?"

    "What kind of trouble is this?"

    "It—has to do with people's private information. It was given to me. It was—at a very convenient time. I'm worried about the fallout if I do use it. Or if I don't use it, and the person who gave it to me gets impatient."

    "By your employer?"

    "No. Someone who wanted to apologize? Make amends, although this isn't—something I wanted, it's something that could be very useful."

    "Alright." Danny rubbed his face, staring at the table. "Are you in danger?"

    "Yes. But—you might be in worse danger because I'm—good at what I do and I can fight." God this got worse by the minute, like telling him not only that you were dating someone—Taylor struggled to find something bad enough. Siberian? Maybe? Long distance with Nilbog? Or that her new favorite hobby was chewing on plastique while lighting up. "I want to make sure you're safe until it blows over. I—I don't—"

    Taylor rubbed at her eyes. She felt exhausted, all of a sudden. Danny handed her a tissue, which she used to scrub at the tears.

    "Taylor, how could I let you deal with this, and let you just—walk into danger?"

    You did before. Taylor clamped down on that little hateful thought, instantly disgusted with herself. "I have—I know people now. I can figure something out, with them. I'm friends with Glory Girl, and with Panacea."

    He perked up a little at that, recognizing the names. "Oh, so you'll go to New Wave?"

    Taylor wasn't going to New Wave with this. Not with Rune in the balance, not with the possibility that it could be blamed on her, that she'd never have another opportunity at life again. "No, but—"

    Thoughts occurred to her, in pieces and parts. They linked together, formed the foundations of a plan.

    "But?" Her father asked. "Taylor, please, work with me. I want to help, to be there for you."

    Fuck. He meant well, but—he just didn't understand. Not this. There was too much in him wanting to be a father, and how could he not? Taylor understood, he wanted to be there, to help her, he hated feeling helpless, inadequate. So did she. But she couldn't tell him everything, again, because he'd help, and that help could hurt him—but she didn't want to lie, either.

    "Dad." Taylor raised her head, staring at him, trying not to clench her fists, trying to maintain eye contact. "I—I want you to trust me. On this. I've been getting more experienced. With this, and—and I have ideas, and I think I can do it. But I need you to trust me, and come with me. So that you'll be safe. But I can't tell you everything. Not now. I'm confident, out there. I can do what I can, and not worry, and I'll do it and it'll be good. But if—"

    "Taylor, how am I supposed to just not do anything, with you saying that?"

    "That's not it!" Taylor's voice was loud, but she reined it in, reigned over it. "I need you to be safe. I need you to stay safe. Because you're my Dad. I can't lose you."

    "How do you think I feel about you, Taylor?" Danny's voice was quiet. That's why it hurt so much, Taylor reasoned as he continued speaking. "If you're not telling me things, keeping things away from me to keep me safe, what happens when something goes wrong with those things?"

    Taylor was suddenly glad for her white-knuckled grip on her knees, because she felt the impulse to touch her sternum, to feel where the impact had happened, even if there wasn't anything there anymore. "I—I have friends. I'll be okay. It's just that I don't know if it's a trap or not and if they're leveraging you against me or not and—damn it."

    She'd been a lot happier when this hadn't been part of her life.

    "Glory Girl told me about her aunt, who got killed because her identity was known, as a superhero, in her civilian life. The person who gave me this knows who I am. I got shot, by them, or someone under their command. I almost died. This is supposedly an apology, but I feel more like it's—a sword over my head, just waiting to drop. And there's no easy solution, either." Lisa would have made some Gordian knot joke, Taylor was sure. Something clever. Taylor couldn't think of anything, just trying to be honest like this. "I don't want that to happen to you. I want to take care of this, make sure it's safe."

    "Taylor."

    "Yes?"

    "You will tell me everything, after this is done?"

    "Yes. Yes, I will."

    "Then I'll go."

    There it was, gone, the tension that had just been there, throughout her body, all over, all inside her, everything just slowly loosening. "Okay."

    Taylor stared at the drive, while her father got ready. They got into the car, it felt odd, sitting in it. It had been a long time. She pulled the seatbelt on, clicking it into place. The sound of the vehicle, starting up, brought back memories. Thoughts when she'd been sitting in the backseat, poking her best friend, making faces at each other. Times when she'd fallen asleep back there, carried into the house. The radio came on, a little too loud for comfort. Danny turned it off, looking over to her. "Where to?"

    Taylor checked her messages, then told him.
     
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    • Goddamn this story is good. The characterization somehow stays true to worm while surpassing it.

    Do you ever intend to write original material Harbin? Because I would buy it.

    Well done and thanks.
     
    32nd_freeze said:
    This is the best Rune I've ever read. You've done a fantastic job writing her.
    Talking to Lisa should be interesting. I feel like the fact this is happening post Faultline is very good for Taylor.
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    RJC1212 said:
    I second that about Rune. Best ever!
    Is Coil about to release all the E88's identifies?
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    E-Rank Luck said:
    This is one of the best fics I've read in a log while. Social fu is op and best worm power. And dammit you are making me want to ship Taylor with people I never thought to ship her with. Well played.
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    Straw_Man@Large said:
    Goddamn this story is good. The characterization somehow stays true to worm while surpassing it.
    Do you ever intend to write original material Harbin? Because I would buy it.
    Well done and thanks.
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    I really appreciate the praise.

    I am going to write some original stuff, somewhat soon. I've always been that type of person who puts things off, or just not finishing things. It's pretty terrible for actually going through things and working them through. That's partially why I've done this one update a day thing, where I sit down and make sure I get an update each night. It helps me to keep to that schedule, because I get the validation/feedback, and creates a nice way to spur me onward.

    If you're interested in reading more of my material (all Worm for now, sorry!) most of it is on SB. The things I'm listing are all on break while I finish Cutting Ties, unfortunately.

    Mettle is my first fic, and admittedly rough as a result. I think I could do some of the plot events and sequencing a lot smoother. I think the strongest parts are probably the later chapters and the interludes. The conversations still feel pretty decent to me, but I could have done certain elements a lot better. It's an altpower fic, featuring Chevalier!Taylor.

    Rend is a quest I made, featuring Butcher!Emma. I actually like where I've taken a lot of the elements, and where the quest is going, although there are some aspects that feel roguh at times. Altogether though, it's a pretty positive fic and Emma still hasn't died sooo she's just a really shitty brute, still.

    Twinnings     is a pun about tea and Coil's power, which Taylor has and almost immediately uses for terrible things. It's hosted on SV and SB, but the plotlines are different, and diverge after chapter 1.5, dramatically. It's closest in tone/themes to Cutting Ties, but focuses more on wordplay and jokes, some of which are pretty obscure. Speaking of which since I actually found out how to properly copy-paste chapters I should fix up 1.1-1.5 on SV.

    Here is a all of the oneshots and snippets I've done. They go from best to earliest. There's shades of Cutting Ties in So You Want to be a Parahuman, although in a very different sense, as well as The Entertainer.

    With Cutting Ties, I think I got to really play around with leitmotifs, which I'm looking forward to talking more about that once it's finished. I think I've learned quite a bit from writing over these past two months, and it's been incredibly interesting to me, honestly. I learned a lot about character driven narrative from Mettle, and learned where I wanted to take that in Rend/Twinnings. My foreshadowing/plot in Mettle has some issues in how it goes along, and I could stand to keep the flow a bit better. Overall, I like where my writing and my style is going, and I'm looking forward to writing more.

    Thank you so much for reading!
     
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    2.13
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    • 2.13​

    Klk-lk, klk-lk, went the blinker, on and off, on and off. Taylor watched it from her position in the vehicle, listening to the noises of the car, feeling the air conditioner on her face. She reached a hand out, redirecting it upward. The car turned, then cruised along, the streetlights flicking by slowly overhead. There was almost no one else on the road, at this time in the morning.

    They made another turn, Klk-lk, klk-lk. Taylor paused as they stopped at the light. It was harder to give directions from the car; when she knew the way by walking, it was much easier from that position. "Straight, here," she said.

    They continued onward.

    "Take the next right." Klk-lk, klk-lk. "Okay. Park here."

    Taylor tapped out on her phone, slowly, precisely. Danny sat there, waiting.

    "We have to walk from here," she said quietly.

    They unclipped themselves, getting out of the car, locking the doors. It was still dark. It was easier to direct him on foot, and they walked to the safehouse, a dingy apartment with the light out above it. Taylor tapped her phone.

    After a moment, the door opened, Heather peeking out. "Taylor?"

    "Hey. This is my Dad. We gotta talk about the stuff that came up."

    The door shut, then came open, unchained. "Come in, please," Heather said.

    The room was just as stark as when they first came, the sparse, spartan nature, utility over comfort. It was a safehouse. Heather locked and chained the door behind them.

    "Has anyone bothered you?"

    "No. Nobody so far. It's pretty good. Mostly soundproof." Heather kept glancing at Danny, then back at Taylor, unsure, unhappy.

    Taylor sat down in a chair, her father sat down in another. Heather sat down in a third, and they were all nicely interspaced around a table. Taylor plucked the flash drive out, placing it on that table. "This has the identities of every Empire 88 member. I was given it by, apparently, the same person who had me shot, as recompense."

    Heather's mouth was open, but she couldn't speak. It was an expression of horror and with good reason. If that information ever got out, she'd never be able to live a normal life. In both her civilian identity, and her cape identity, she'd be hounded. Never 'normal' again. She'd always have to pretend at it, to be someone else.

    Danny's face, she couldn't read nearly as well. He was angry? Sad, unhappy, scared. Probably because he hadn't been included in this, and maybe a little disappointment? Taylor was unsure, and she hurried on before either of them could speak up.

    "I have a time limit to use it, apparently, or it'll be released. She," Taylor said, pointing at Heather, "would probably be blamed, because of her circumstances."

    "Why?"

    "That's not something—" Taylor stopped, as Heather shook her head.

    "Please," she said, trembling. Her fingers plucked a pencil off the table, then withdrew; the pencil stayed in the air, independent. "I'm uh, Rune. But, I think I prefer Heather now. I might have to find a new name in the future. I—I used to be? Part of the E88. I left."

    "Are you going to be a hero?" Danny asked cautiously, looking from Heather to Taylor.

    "I don't know yet. I'd like to help Taylor. Even if I get recognized and called a Nazi or whatever they call me. I—but this…"

    Taylor looked to the USB. "They might think that she defected, and stole information. They might try to kill her. And if they know I've been in contact with her, they might want to kill you, Dad. Because if they're outed, they might not worry about civility."

    "Yeah," Heather said lamely. "I—don't want them to think badly of me. I left them but I—they're still people I knew. That sounds terrible. They were… nice people. To me."

    "...So. You think I should stay here, to be safe? Is that what you're saying, Taylor?" Danny asked, rubbing at his eyes, looking very tired.

    "Yes. It's one of Faultline's safehouses that I'm renting. They'll swing by to make sure everything is okay, and I'll get food here. I'd like to talk over what Heather would like to do with this, with her."

    Danny nodded, looking frustrated, helpless. "You've—changed, Taylor."

    "I like the old me better, I think," Taylor said, smiling ruefully. "But I'm getting better with this me, too. I think—that we're doing a lot better. Sorry. I didn't expect this to happen. Didn't want this to happen."

    "It's okay. I'm going to go wash my face. Is that the bathroom over there?"

    Heather nodded. Danny left the small living room, leaving Heather and Taylor sitting there.

    "Your dad seems nice," Heather said, her voice low, trying to make small talk, trying to say anything to avoid the bomb on the table. "Didn't call me a nazi bitch or anything. So that's good."

    Taylor frowned, staring at the drive. "I could blackmail Kaiser with it."

    "What?" Heather said, as Taylor took out her phone, glancing down at it.

    "Just, threaten him, tell him to leave you alone, maybe make some demand for seceding territory? What is he like?"

    "Very… planned. He's got this great voice, it carries, you can tell exactly what it means when he speaks, and he just knows or plans exactly what he says. I could have sworn he was talking directly to me, when he said stuff." Heather's voice was almost fondly reminiscing. "He had a different armor every single time he'd come out. I think he made them using his ability."

    Taylor considered this, wondering if she could project the blades the armor was composed from. "That would be a very useful ability for me to have."

    Danny exited the washroom, drying his face with a small white towel. Taylor stood, and hugged him. He let out a whff of surprise, as he removed the towel. "Hey, Taylor."

    "Hey Dad," Taylor said, muffled by shirt, as she released her father. "I'm going to go."

    There wasn't disappointment on her father's face, but the pain and sadness were enough. "Okay," he said, "I love you, Taylor."

    "I love you too, Dad." Taylor couldn't look at him any longer, looked away, over to Heather. "You should come with me."

    "Okay," Heather said. Taylor scooped the drive up. They left Danny there, looking forlorn and exhausted. Taylor felt worse than ever, as they walked down that road. There were the first bits of sun, rising into the picture.

    "What do you think I should do?"

    "I—I don't know. I don't want them to get hurt, you know? It feels odd, but some of them were kind of family. They did things that made me very happy, but they were also just—most of the time, not that kind of people." Heather shrugged.

    "Mm," Taylor said, looking down at the ground. It was a nice patch of ground to be staring at, all grey and dark. "I'm not really sure either. Like, I'm wading around in the shallow end, and someone just threw a giant beach ball at me that knocked me straight into the deep, yelling 'Marco fucking Polo, bitch.'"

    "Ha." Heather said.

    "Yeah. I haven't gotten much sleep. No good jokes or references now, sorry."

    They kept on walking, together; stopped at a street corner, Taylor took out her phone, texting Lisa. The thoughts, the plan, they slowly came together, in pieces and chunks. A messy plan.

    Where does Kaiser live? What's his phone number? Taylor smiled at Heather, who smiled back. "We'll figure something out."

    "Alright."

    "You okay?" Taylor asked, sliding the phone into her pocket as it vibrated an answer. "I figure we can visit Faultline, get some advice on the whole matter. If that's alright with you."

    "Okay."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • 2.14
  • Threadmarks
    • 2.14 ​

    Dramatic thoughts came easily, dramatic plans, even easier. They all involved using powers in almost amusing ways, ridiculous plans alongside the reasonable ones. Perhaps Amy could create a body, using her powers. How difficult would it be? Perhaps Taylor could fake her death that way, or have Rune fake hers. Was that even possible for Amy to do? Had to think small, perhaps. If Amy could create bio-luminescence, why not epicanthic folds? Taylor wondered if she was confident enough to look into that mirror with a completely different face and still see herself there. She didn't think she was overly pretty or good looking, nor very vain, but—it was her, someone that was partially defined by how she looked and felt about her looks. From her hair to her too-thin lips, to her too-big eyes, they were all a part of her identity, pieces of her.

    They walked into Palanquin, masks on, the bouncer recognized her, Taylor gave her a nod, and went by.

    But that sort of thing wasn't something that she could ask Heather to give up, let alone herself. A permanent mask, to potentially never be taken off... The faking death part was just as silly without convincing Amy to do something quite ridiculous, on a scale that she'd likely never done, and wouldn't be comfortable with. Still, the thoughts came, interesting and new ways to use Heather's powers, maybe have her pretend to be another cape, if she wasn't comfortable being herself. Her telekinesis rebranded, perhaps using it to levitate armor around herself—but Heather didn't want to pretend so much, she wanted to be.

    On some level, Taylor thought it was the lack of sleep. Ideas running thick and wild, en masse, unrestrained by common sense. On another level, her mind ran amok, delighted with the ideas, they flooded, they were enjoyable, creative, thoughts that stirred her mind, whirling it up and pushing it forward. They distracted from the thoughts of sleep, and she wanted to continue to think up more, bounce ideas off her friends and allies.

    Taylor felt like she belonged, in that role, more than ever. Theories and thoughts that touched on others, branching out, webs, weaved. Perhaps if Labyrinth were to create a place, where they could stay, a sort of sanctuary, where the sun shone underground—or if she got Genesis to do—what? Maybe make Kaiser, announcing his own subordinates to the public?

    It was a storm of possibility, and she felt right at home, smiling as she went up the steps, to the back room of Palanquin, her friend in tow. Heather glanced all around them, but Taylor stepped continually forward, sifting, sidling, through the crowd, past the people asleep on couches.

    She wanted to show Labyrinth pictures of different places, maybe let her work them into those places. Taylor wanted to do so many things, because so many things were so immensely interesting, and there were so many things she could do.

    But right now, there was one thing that they had to do, one problem that they had to tackle. Taylor knocked on the door, letting go of Heather's hand.

    The door opened, Faultline stood there, looking as if she had just gotten out of the shower, hair still wet, a towel around her shoulders. "Come," she said, gesturing toward the chairs. "You wanted advice."

    They sat, Taylor took out the drive and placed it on the table. It felt like this was becoming a common thing, as of recent. Heather looked exhausted, Faultline looked fresh, her mask was straight, as she sat down, picking up the drive.

    "Could sell it. Something worth this much—"

    "But it'd paint a target on my back. A really big one, right?"

    "Only matters if you stay here, although I'd prefer that, and Gesellschaft might take issue with you outing a white supremacist organization," Faultline spoke, matter-of-fact. "I think it's a good short-term decision, although not one that would be good for relationships. Capes would be loath to trust someone who was willing to out people for money."

    "What do you think about Kaiser?"

    "Highly manipulative. He's much like his father in that regard, evidently. Have you looked at the drive, yet?"

    "No."

    "Are you planning on talking to him?"

    "Yes." Taylor glanced over to Heather, who looked vaguely shocked. "I think that I'd like to try sort this out without violence, if possible."

    "He's known to be—reasonable," Faultline said, with some distaste. "Always provided money on time, never less than professional. His people, on the other hand, are not. If you'd like a full listing of what I find distasteful about the E88, you'll need to wait for a while, and pay me to waste my time doing so." Faultline glanced meaningfully at Heather, who cringed. "You came for advice as to what to do for the contents on that drive."

    "Yes. What is your opinion?"

    "We enjoy a lot of clemency, due to our mercenary nature. The fact that we have our own in-house parahuman non-addictive drug factory notwithstanding, we don't engage in crimes that would get us thrown into the birdcage, and put a good amount into cultivating a certain image. Professionalism helps, as does the willingness to abandon jobs that turn particularly bad. There's rules that we follow, in order to keep exchanges that would otherwise damn us to a minimum."

    "Lisa doesn't like you."

    "Lisa?"

    "Blonde hair," Taylor smirked in imitation, raising a condescending eyebrow. "Likes verbal jabs. Not her real name."

    "Oh. Tattletale," Faultline sneered. "I can't imagine why."

    Faultline knew exactly why, but Taylor didn't press the point. It wasn't as important right now, but she definitely wasn't going to mention Lisa's involvement with the drive. "About the drive, though?"

    "This would go under 'do not touch,' because of the consequences inherent to it. Too much risk if it was released for it to come back to us, especially with Purity back and all. Maybe if we were guaranteed support, or were working with other groups." Faultline took her words carefully, just as she took consequences carefully, at least according to her perspective. "Speaking as someone who is tangentially involved as a contractor of your services, I recommend getting out of it as soon as possible, because it might interfere with your services to myself."
    Heather looked like she wanted to say something, but stayed silent. Taylor stared at her for a long moment, trying to gauge what she wanted. The room felt odd, with all three of them there, a dissonant conversation without Heather taking part, obviously uncomfortable.

    "Thank you for your advice. I did feel it was part of my responsibility to you, since you are employing me. I will inform you of the decision I make, and will try to prevent consequences coming back here." Taylor stood, a polite indication that she was done, Faultline nodded, and gave a quote if they required further services. A respectable amount, but not over the top. Heather and Taylor left. It was easier to leave than get in, the crowd had thinned, and it looked like the club was reaching 'closing time,' whatever that meant for Palanquin.

    "Kaiser runs people like they're going through a grinder, sometimes," Heather said. "For people who don't matter, and people who aren't useful."

    "Hm," Taylor said. "Do you know why?"

    "My uncle says he's the spitting image of his dad. Said. There's—pressure to have marriages, arranged with uh, people with powers. Maybe he was like that? Maybe his dad pushed him really hard, so he pushes people really hard. I met his son, once," Heather said, as they walked along, the sky slowly becoming bluer, more vibrant and bright. "Well, maybe more than once, but he just—he was boring. He wasn't really interesting, and not really good looking, either."

    Taylor noted the particular tone she said the words in, distaste and disillusionment, expecting to have found something but coming nowhere near. The possibility of meeting someone, maybe a friend, but someone who just—was a nobody, to her. Nothing that repulsed her too much, just a sharp—dissonance. The difference in who she expected, and who she had met, had dashed any chance at a positive opinion. "No real attraction?"

    "No, not even that, he just—he was chubby, and just I don't know if he was shy or just had no interests—or if I just—Kaiser may be a really good leader, but I don't think he's a very good father."

    "Do you think my Dad is a good father?"

    "I—I don't know, Taylor. I don't think I'm—I'm not the right person to ask that." Heather was flustered, shrugging in response to the abrupt question. "I'm kind of—not a good scale. I don't know. Sorry."

    "No, it's fine. Awkward question, wasn't really thinking."

    "No, no, I don't mind." They walked along silently for a bit after that, the cool morning air was nice. Taylor felt impelled to speak. The words were there, and she desperately wanted to use them, to set things right, to use her resources, what she had, to do good. If Heather saw her as an example, she'd do her damndest to be just that.

    She paused for a moment, Heather stopping, then looking at her oddly. Taylor considered. Was she trying to be like Faultline, in that confidence, commanding a group? No, not quite, she was more, she was envious of what Faultline had, envied her ability to choose. She coveted that, craved that level of interaction she had, with her teammates. That camaraderie, of sorts. It made sense, in that way. She still wasn't sure about her relationship with her father. She liked and loved her friends, wanted them to thrive and flourish. Taylor spoke, slowly, confidently. "I'm going to call Kaiser. I'm going to try to use the information to bargain with him, get him to leave you alone. I want to make a team. I want you to be a part of this team. Would you be okay with that?"

    "A team?" Heather said, seeming to care more about that in the moment. "What are you going to call it? What kind of team?"

    "No idea. I'll take suggestions at the first meeting. You and me. We can find other members later. We'll figure something out. You in? Because I have a phone call to make." Sometimes, things required thought, sometimes it required time to make decisions, and maybe Taylor wasn't in the best mind to make decisions, but her mind was in the best place for making thoughts, words making her smile, because they were all there, ready, and she was grinning with her whole face, holding out a hand to her friend; inviting, without reservation or restriction.

    "Uh—" Heather said, blinking. Her answer was a squeak; then a shaky word, with a shy smile. "Sure."

    She took Taylor's hand. Taylor shook it. "Alright. Time to blackmail your old boss. Best start to the new team. Or just talk to him. He probably gets up early. Hope his phone isn't on silent. Sound good?"

    Heather nodded, and they walked on together, as Taylor slowly put the number in.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • 2.15
  • Threadmarks
    • 2.15​

    There was a certain train of thought that said Taylor should wait, that she shouldn't try to make this call, with this little sleep. There was a time limit that she was under, and she was way under that time limit. Perhaps she'd be better off with more sleep, perhaps she'd have more words. Except that wasn't true, and she knew it wasn't. Not in a feverish, 'I'm right, you're wrong, I'm fine,' sense; nor was it an immediate leap from topic to topic, the product of distracted, splintered mind. It was a clear-headed beat, an alertness that pulsed, an idea that linked, to another one, to another one. Her mind was abuzz, in that sense, and the intensity was one of awareness.

    There was a rhythm in the way people spoke, in the way their prosody connected from syllable to syllable. A stress on one here, a lightening of their tone there. A half-joke, half-question, from that upturned accent right there. That connection, that piece, it provoked answers, more questions, that spread, further and further.

    It cogitated, coalesced, and that was why Taylor needed to make this call, why she wanted to talk, to spin truth and lie together, to feel alive in that moment of speech.

    Lisa, Tattletale, because both fit her, in that elusive sense; she had every intention of prying out secrets, of fiddling with places that she shouldn't press into, curiosity made vindictive by knowledge. She found those secrets, and she wanted to put them to use, throw them out into the field, find the source, the wellspring, and then use those, too. Because everything was fair play, if they were going to sling bullets, she'd sling words.

    Faultline was a different sort of intellect, straightforward, fitting her name well. Her thoughts were hammer-blows, slamming down onto iron, finding their weakpoints, attempting to temper, sometimes succeeding, but always gathering information. Working toward that next goal. She didn't need to know everything, she was looking to improve, herself and her crew, and damn others. She didn't rely on herself, she relied on others, and then used them to help connect the dots.

    They were somewhat similar, somewhat different. Both thinkers in their own respect, both ways of looking at problems. Taylor wanted more, she wanted to grasp, to understand, to utilize every thought, to take and take, because she could see how they thought, and wanted to use it for herself. Because if she could use it, then she could change it, find ways to make it better, to improve. And she wanted always, to step forward.

    So, she was curious, always. How did Kaiser think? How did he work, how did he break people, what made him do—whatever he had done, to his son? It was a riddle that she wanted to answer, to find and piece together, so that she could learn, to take from it.

    It was fun. It was new. So, she hit the call button, calling up a major supervillain at six in the morning, feeling her mind running, her mouth moving a deliberate half-second behind; that was enough time to think, to process, to improve.

    The phone rang, and Taylor was humming with words, teeming, brimming. It was like calling—the Chief of Police? The PRT Director? It wasn't every day she got to bandy words with either of those, and now she was calling up Kaiser, ready to chat, to parley, wondering how his parlance in costume and out differed, what he valued, what he enjoyed.

    What did he eat? Did the man only eat the best of sirloins, only chicken fried steaks, and hamburgers with freedom fries? Did he have hobbies? Did he feel guilt? There was so much, so many things to know, to find, to learn. What did he use his powers for? Could he make knives, to eat with, to use, he used them to make armor; could he use them for other purposes, too? Could he be making steel for transport, for boats, for plans, what quality was it? Did his powers differ from his father's, what about his sister's? Could those powers work together?

    Perhaps it would be a chat, perhaps it would be blackmail. Taylor didn't know, she wasn't sure, and that made it all the better, because it was in the moment, and she felt wonderfully alive, replete with energy, words flowing, rhythm moving.

    The phone picked up.

    There was a waiting sensation, a deliberate lack of response. Waiting for her? She'd go readily, discussion, debate, it all awaited her.

    "Hello," she said, "Kaiser? Is that you? I've been wanting to speak to you, and it's wonderful to finally get in contact with you."

    She made the first breach into his domain, speaking, a repartee, thrown out. An invite. Would he come? Would he not? Everything would tell her more. Her words were easy, someone greeting a friend; a person she'd missed for a long time, and she spoke them, made them genuine. Cordial, that was the wonderful word, that was also a wonderful drink, made from sugar and fruit. Multipurpose, just like her greeting.

    "I am he, may I ask who is speaking?" His voice, deep, confident, rich. There was no end to that calm confidence, and his voice reached, although it sounded just as a normal greeting. Taylor wanted to take notes. Everyone led their groups differently. His voice was polite superficially, as he prodded for answers, looked to gather information.

    "Yes, you can call me Neith, for now," Taylor said. "How is your day going?" Polite, keeping with common, appropriate dialogue. Not exposing too much. If she came right out with it, he'd know, and that wouldn't be good for negotiating. It would weaken her position, make it rougher to speak, to continue a dialogue. If he pried, if he poked, she could slowly expose it, make it seem like he'd found what she was hiding.

    She wasn't pulling this from the thoughts in her own mind, she knew. She was catching glimpses into—not the thoughts of others, but the paths that their minds took, that they had, the decisions that led them to make those, pushing her forward, pushing her to give her more information, more fitting words, how they thought, rather than what they thought. Her words were still awkward, simply keeping up the conversation. Would that change? Taylor wanted to find out.

    "My day is going quite well, Miss Neith. It looks as if it will be a beautiful day in Brockton Bay. Would you mind joining me?" Calm, but slight annoyance, getting to the point. He pushed the topic, taking control of it in those five words, no hardness to his voice, but there was an invitation laid out. His time was valuable, but he was willing to meet with her.

    Did he know? Maybe. Maybe not. He'd gain more from a meeting than she would, he had more forces, he had some of the most forces in Brockton Bay, and he knew it. By seeing her, he would know a great deal more about her. Taylor's voice didn't lend much to her, other than that she was female. It could have been anywhere ranging from 12 to 30, maybe older, depending on the person.

    But if she refused, she'd show that she didn't want to meet him, or that she was giving up control in the conversation. There was a loss either way, but Taylor was smiling, and it was coming through in her voice; she was happy to let it. "Sounds wonderful, Kaiser. I would love to meet you. My schedule is fairly open today, and I'd be happy to come to you."

    He was suspicious. There had been very little hesitation to her response, and her honest grin had helped. Kaiser most likely wanted to set a trap, or something that would give him ground, an advantage, control. That was it, wasn't it? He wanted to be in control, always to have control. Jockeying for it, pushing it onto others. That answered that little question about his son, at least. It was something to control someone, to push them, to break them, to peel them away in layers. Perhaps he had, perhaps he hadn't, and Kaiser's son was a dullard, unfit for duty, left to fend for himself. But one train of thought made more sense to Taylor. It fit.

    "Very well, I can find time to meet with you today," Kaiser said, almost immediately, as if the pause had been for effect, rather than thought. He named a time and a place. One within E88 territory, but not so deep that it would be an absolute trap. Skirting the edges, though. The way he said it was further intriguing, in a way that made her question, that made her question the questioning, should she trust? Should she not trust?

    Taylor didn't know, but she was looking forward to it. He knew something. He suspected, at the very least, that she had something to do with Rune's disappearance. Perhaps someone had seen her with Rune, or perhaps they'd found footage off security cameras. Taylor wasn't sure, but she suspected. Oh. Oh! It occurred to her, in that wonderful way, where knowledge gleaned, gleamed in the light of insight, where it all came to a head. He wanted her to ask questions, to admit that she didn't know, and he'd deign to answer, but feign surprise, Taylor didn't know? How did she not know? Did Taylor care? It would weaken her bargaining position about Heather, so she supposed that she did.

    Heather sat there next to her, silent. Taylor shrugged, and made a face. Heather glanced off to the side, away, but there was a smile. "Alright, Kaiser. I'll meet with you then. I appreciate you taking the time to meet me."

    "It will be a pleasure to meet you. Until then, Miss Neith." Ah, there it was, the slightest hint of patronizing paternalism, in that last bit. Oh, it was going to be a trap. It was going to be a wonderful trap, and god, Taylor was enjoying every last moment of it.

    "Until then, Kaiser." Taylor hung up. Was she smiling? Yes. Absolutely.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Harbin said:
    "It will be a pleasure to meet you. Until then, Miss Neith." Ah, there it was, the slightest hint of patronizing paternalism, in that last bit. Oh, it was going to be a trap. It was going to be a wonderful trap, and god, Taylor was enjoying every last moment of it.

    "Until then, Kaiser." Taylor hung up. Was she smiling? Yes. Absolutely.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Let the Ham flow through you?

    Kindfragen said:
    Assurance: No, no. It seems deliberate. We hear people smile on the phone all the time.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    You can use echolocation through a phone?
     
    Kindfragen said:
    Assurance: No, no. It seems deliberate. We hear people smile on the phone all the time.
    Offhand: That phrase also makes for wonderful (poetic?) irony.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Yeah, it's actually really interesting stuff! Here's some sources on hearing smiles: The vocal communication of different kinds of smile, (PDF if you're interested,) Happy talk: Perceptual and acoustic effects of smiling on speech, (PDF if interested.) I can talk about this kind of stuff all day so I'll stop now.

    Edit: Dr. Amy Drahota's interview with NPR is a short and interesting one on the matter. Okay I'm done.
     
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    Why do I get the feeling Taylor is beginning to approach, if not surpass where Jack's mastery with this particular bit of power/skill came in? She's certainly taking big strides forward, at least.
     
    2.16
  • Threadmarks
    • 2.16​

    Kaiser could gather information, in that time. That was also a possibility that Taylor couldn't disregard. That was okay, though. He was gathering information about someone who, well, looked—dysfunctional was a kind way of putting it, on camera, attacking, lashing out. That was if he figured out who she was from the name Neith, if he'd paid attention to someone who hadn't exactly done much to disrupt his organization.

    It did fit the developing picture of how Taylor thought of him. Wanting control, he ground people down, not caring, or not seeing what it did to them. So, he'd take precautions about her, most likely. Maybe he'd find out about her, her identity, and use that as to compound his perspective of her. That was probably the limit—no, what was the worst outcome of the meeting? Mutually assured destruction, or her being killed and the flash drive taken. That was still mutually assured destruction, though, if Lisa's employer knew. A pseudo-insurance policy, taken out in a way she hadn't wanted and didn't particularly desire, but was advantageous in this particular way.

    There was so much she didn't know, but wanted to know, to find, to search for and learn. Taylor licked her lips, wetting them, whetting her tongue.

    Confidence was percolating there, in that sifting, seeping way; it suffused her, until she effused it, in her movements, in her speech. She brewed in it, steeped in it, drawing it out, searching, looking for what exactly made that blend of boldness. Not in the sandpaper, acidic, acerbic kind that Kaiser had, rubbing away until people didn't oppose him, until their edges, their thoughts and personas were worn away, embittered, their dreams and thoughts stillborn; a different kind of confidence, gathered from the fragments and pieces of others, examples guiding her, and still changing, always shifting, an easy confidence. Not afraid, always seeking, always trying. She looked for those pieces, whether they were on the ground or on the sky, scooping them up and holding them close.

    Taylor wanted to learn, in that fulfilling way, the one goal she could always strive toward. She knew she could lead, but how? There were so many choices, so many paths, and she could only pick one, out of many—of many among those many. There were mistakes she could make along the way, for sure, but she wanted to be prepared, to learn from whomever and whatever. So, Taylor wondered about Kaiser, pondered what made him in the way that he was, in how he learned, how he worked, because it was all things she could use.

    She stretched, then hugged Heather, who was dozing off slightly, her head listing to one side. "Let's get some coffee."

    "Huh? M'kay," Heather said, lips forming a soft smile. She trusted Taylor. Was it possible to be a leader and an equal, a leader and a friend? Kaiser seemed to think not. Faultline seemed to think so.

    Taylor wanted more. She wanted to see opinions, to enjoy them, take them in, choosing the choicest bits, to use that guileless curiosity to be picky. A connoisseur of viewpoints, sampling. Kaiser's leadership worked. It wasn't a question of that. Taylor stood from the bench, offering a hand to Heather, who took it. Taylor pulled her up. They went and got some overpriced coffee, which wasn't terrible, but not fantastic, either. The caffeine revived them, made them feel a little bit sick drinking it on an empty stomach, so they split a (similarly overpriced) panini, eating it together, sitting on the beachfront. "You going to be okay?"

    "Yeah," Heather said. "I think I'm good. How about you? You're the one I think we should be worried about."

    "That's what I've got friends for," Taylor grinned at her, self-satisfied, self-assured, smirking.

    "You look like the cat that caught the canary," Heather said, a trace of that smile on her face. "It's a good look on you."

    "Thanks," Taylor said, her smile growing, turning into a chuckle; they sat there, together, watching the tide come in, watching the sunshine reflecting off the water.

    --​

    There were of course, some calls to be made before she went to the meeting. Heather was falling asleep on her feet, so Taylor took her back to that apartment, hugging her father, hugging Heather. "I'll be back, Dad," she said, and meant it. "It's almost done."

    He didn't look as forlorn, as sad, and nodded. Taylor breathed in deep, looking at her father, then at Heather; she was on the couch, slumbering.

    "I love you, Taylor. Please—" What did he want to say? The words stopped for a moment. Please don't go? Please do your best? Please come back alive?

    It didn't matter. He cared. He fucking cared, and she cared. "I'll be back. I will. It'll just be today, and then we can go home. We can go home and we'll make something. Lobster. Lobster sounds good. Maybe grilled scallops. Something. Okay?"

    "Okay," he said, his lips struggling to smile. He was worried. He was terrified. With good reason.

    Taylor nodded at him once more, and then walked off, tapping the location into her phone. She wanted to put her father's face out of her mind, although she knew that was the wrong decision. So, she didn't and kept thinking about it. Of home, that place that kept becoming unoccupied; that place that she would untangle, that she would work toward, because she wanted that place, to have friends over, to make her dad exasperated, to have sleepovers again, to do things that made that empty place filled with laughter.

    She wanted that, so she kept it in mind, as she focused on the task at hand.

    What would Kaiser do? Where would the meeting be held? Every thing he did, told her more. The reverse was, as always, true, but she welcomed the exchange of information, the feeling out of each other, the tactics, the thought involved.

    She walked to the Dallon residence, texting Victoria.

    --​

    "Damn, you look like shit, Taylor," she said, grimacing.

    "Ah, yeah, kind of," Taylor said, with a short laugh, looking down at herself. She lifted an arm, smelling herself. Not terrible. Just smelled like the sea, mostly. "So I'm going to meet with Kaiser to try and blackmail him."

    "Uh?" Victoria said. "Are you serious?"

    Victoria's expression was great, the slight disbelief with the bigger skepticism leaking in.

    "Yeah. You're my insurance policy. No fighty stuff, just—here, take this." Taylor pressed the flash drive into Victoria's hand. "Just hold onto it, okay?"

    "What is it, Taylor?"

    "Info on all of E88. Serious info. But it'd cause some pretty big damage, so I think you're the best one to have it. If I die or whatever, you can choose not to use it. The person who gave it to me is going to release it in a deadline anyway, but—I think you're responsible enough to hold onto it for me. You know what happens when people's identities get revealed, and you helped and warned me. I trust you, Victoria."

    "Fuck. You can't just—do that, this is—"

    "Just did. You're smart. Maybe take it to your mom, or hopefully, after this is over, we can roast it on a fire or something. Or you can see how small you can crush it."

    Victoria stared at Taylor, then wrapped her into a tight hug. "Gonna break your ribs if you don't come back alive. You can't do this—tell me the address. Or I crush the drive right now, and—"

    The expression on Victoria's face as she pulled back made Taylor capitulate, giving in. "Okay, okay."

    --​

    Taylor texted Sophia. Shadow Stalker. Hey. Keep up your good work, okay?

    wtf does that mean??

    Taylor smirked. idk mebbe i felt like complimenting u bitch don't get a swelled head

    fuk u too, whore.     That was it, for a moment. Then the phone buzzed with a single word. thanks.

    Taylor laughed at that, shaking her head. Then she went off to go meet with Kaiser.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • 2.17
  • Threadmarks
    • 2.17​

    The meeting place was an older office building. All brickwork and paint covered grafiti, but the inside wasn't bad, clean and nice. That was the best way to put it. Taylor was told by the secretary where to go, floor eight, room eleven. It didn't seem like an ostentatious display of power, but did make her feel odd, out of place, as if she shouldn't be wearing the mask she was, and should have a nice—suit? Dress? Something formal for the occasion. Oh well. She'd never really been one for fitting in, so to speak. Sticking out was a pastime she was well-practiced at.

    The elevator opened as she walked up to it. Taylor stepped in, hit the '8,' and waited there. Elevator music played, a bland jingle that Taylor forgot even as it played; it had no personality, no pizzazz. The doors slid open in short order. Rooms one through twelve, this way. Rooms twelve through twenty four, that way. Taylor followed the arrow, heading to room eleven. She knocked on the door once, raised her hand, and brought it do—and stepped back smoothly, as the door opened outward.

    A man sat within, sitting at a desk. Languid, casual, supremely uncaring. Broad shoulders, an angular frame, a half-mask made from metal, that separated, revealing his mouth. It wrapped around his head in a crown of blades. Taylor wanted to ask him if he could make one for her. She was curious as to how fine he could make an edge, and how useful that might be. Metal edges did have their limits, but they felt so satisfying to sharpen, to project. He was armored, metal forming graceful curves and outcroppings, and gauntlets, vambraces, the whole lot.

    The door shut behind her.

    Before, she had been questioning, thinking. Now she was sure. Taylor didn't bother looking behind her, instead smiling at Kaiser. "Hello."

    He had used his power to open and close the door, a little display of power, of control, maintaining his position in the space. What purpose did it serve? To project his image? It was an interesting question and one she wanted to ask, but that would lose standing in his eyes, so she couldn't. Why? Why did he need so much control? Did it have to do with his power, how he could manipulate things around him? Why did she have knives, and the ability to speak 'reel good' to people who also had powers?

    Was there a connection? What could it possibly be, where did it go? She wanted to follow it.

    "Hello," Kaiser replied, casually, politely. "A seat?"

    There were two open seats. They were very pretty seats, leather, wood, and metal. Umber-colored, and Taylor vaguely hoped that she didn't ruin them with blood in a fight. Kaiser made suggestions, but those suggestions weren't extending himself in any way, and she had to listen to them or feel foolish, standing. She took a seat. "Are we waiting for someone?"

    "We'll have another guest for lunch." It wasn't a question, just an admission. Did he expect tit-for-tat, that she should answer his questions, his prodding, for hers? It seemed reasonable enough. "Neith. Are you still going by Neith? Egyptian goddess?"

    "Yes, for now. It seemed appropriate with people going around naming themselves Legend and Lung." Taylor smiled ingratiatingly at her host, who inclined his head slightly.

    "Do you consider yourself on the same power level as those two?" Kaiser asked, no change in expression, but the comment sounded more like admonition than admiration to Taylor, that was for sure.

    "Of course not," Taylor said, "I consider it to be a name that I would never mistake for my own, something temporary, until I find a new one that fits."

    Hm. That had been a misstep, admitting that she wasn't going to keep the name, implied indecision, and there was the hint of Kaiser's lips quirking up, a bit of satisfaction. "Ah, then I wish you luck. What can I do for you, Neith?"

    Taylor was thinking as that smile quirked up. If she had overplayed her hand by admitting that, why not just empty part of it on the table, make him think she was losing, giving up control? It sounded interesting, intriguing, to test that, "I'd like to keep Rune. She's mine, now."

    "Oh? I think her legal guardians might have something to say about that," Kaiser said, those little upwards quirks on his lips there once more, the beginnings of a smile. Taylor was sure there was a condescending raised eyebrow as well. "She's not qualified to make that sort of decision on her own."

    Ah. He knew why she was here. There had been slight tracings of it, why he had agreed so quickly to a meeting. Had he known? She'd paid Faultline to give—certain aspects of information, but not others, if Kaiser called. Had he? She couldn't precisely take her phone out to check now, but it couldn't have been—hm. Could she not get cell service here? That could be a problem. "I came here to ask for your blessing in that, Kaiser."

    "You're asking quite a bit, Neith." There was a single knock; Kaiser's gauntlet tapped against the table, and the door opened. Taylor could hear the click. She didn't look back. "I'm not interested."

    A dismissal. No, he was holding that above her, not in the way Faultline dismissed, indicating that the conversation had reached a close, this was a ploy, of sorts. Who had entered? Taylor wanted to crane her neck to check, but—her 'danger sense' wasn't telling her to duck or dive away. Just someone stepping into the room. The door closed.

    Kaiser stood, 'done' with the conversation as he turned to look out the window.

    "Kaiser?" It was a female voice. Taylor glanced to her right. She didn't recognize the woman, but she recognized the cape, as it was almost impossible to look at her, white hair, eyes blazing, literally blazing with light. No mask, and Taylor was oddly reminded of Victoria in her presence, although it was as if there was a literal sun that hurt the eyes, as opposed to a metaphorical one that felt like—basking, in the light. "You called?"

    "Yes, please, sit." He didn't turn to face her, instead speaking. It was a show, an act, a ritual of control. He required everything to be a bargain, an extraction of a deal, taken from them, used to further his own ends. Everything was made to be advantageous to him. It was vastly interesting to Taylor. Why, when he had that, did he sound disappointed in Purity, as if she had become a nuisance, yapping at his heels? She hadn't said anything, hadn't done anything other than sit.

    Purity didn't bother looking at Taylor, staring ahead.

    "This is Neith. Unless Neith has other business, won't be joining us for lunch. I imagine she can see herself out."

    Ah, was that why he was disappointed? He wanted more of a fight, more of a contest. He wanted more chips on the table, to deal out the cards and see how he could turn them to his own advantage. He wouldn't hesitate to mark her off as well, but he—clung to those moments where he could pick people apart, tear them down. Purity was supposed to be a power play, a display of the powerhouse he had on his team, who he could use to—convince Taylor to leave empty handed, or return Heather.

    Taylor smiled. "I do have other business, but it's related to my proposition about Rune. I was hoping to come to a peaceful conclusion with that first."

    She kept that lilt, a slight hesitation in her words, imitating inexperience as she spoke. There, his shoulders rose a fraction, and he slowly turned, but didn't approach the desk. Did she need to spin out more? No, wait for the response, wait for him to choose to react. "Rune will return eventually. She has enough connections that it's not a real worry."

    It was as if he was talking about a cat that had been let out for the day, that would return to the warmth and comfort of the family house. He cared, and was annoyed. The slight grimace as he spoke those last words, he absolutely knew Rune was a powerhouse, that was another reason why Purity was here, to showcase that he didn't need rune. That she was an asset, but one he could afford to lose.

    But he wouldn't hesitate to exert his personal influence, probably in his civilian identity, to pressure Heather. To take her back into the fold. She was fair game for dirty tactics.

    Well. Taylor had something for that, but it wasn't quite right to reveal it. The time wasn't perfect to drop that bombshell. There was a flow, it was still going along, uninterrupted. Taylor wanted to go along with that flow, to see it through to the end, grasp and grab what she needed as it came down.

    Right now, though? She had to keep with Kaiser's dialogue, his speech, and avoid getting incinerated by Purity, or something. Could he form blades on the chair? It would be something, that was for sure. But no, he wanted to win, to shut her down, to show her that she was nothing.

    Did he not know her age? It seemed likely that he didn't. Taylor was flat, but tall, lanky, slightly gangly, but it was a way to conceal her age. Her maturity wasn't immediately available, and she wasn't carrying herself with immaturity.

    Everything was a signal, everything had a meaning, here. It was information, it was delightful.

    Taylor resolved never to do this sort of thing to anyone she knew and liked, because it was awful. Making them second-guess as a joke, that was alright, because it was funny to both parties, and it wasn't an argument. It was interesting to watch and participate in, but she glanced over to Purity, (and glanced away because Purity's hair and eyes continued to blaze,) and her jaw was clenched. Did Purity dislike Kaiser as well? That was interesting. Did his subordinates all feel that way? Were they like his son, broken and dulled? Did Kaiser realize what he did, if that was true?

    Or maybe he preferred that kind of person, the kind of personality that relied on him, that couldn't do without him. He preferred that perspective, perhaps, to look down on others, to see them for what they were useful for.

    Taylor smiled. "I think that Rune should be allowed to make her own decisions. She would like to stay with me."

    "Then why is she not here, with you? You're speaking for her, but I have no guarantee that you're not just keeping her somewhere," Kaiser said, one hand tapping on the desk for emphasis. Not hard, not a pound, but just an enunciation to the end of certain words. "How do I know you're not just a Master, poaching a teammate and attempting to convince me you aren't?"

    "That's a very good question." And one that Taylor probably wasn't qualified to answer, considering that the ability to have all those right answers was a little bit of a Master ability, even if it was more of a Thinker thing. "I've asked her to stay out of the public eye, because she came to me, fearing reprisal. I'm not a Master, but you'll have to take that one on faith, just as I am here on good faith."

    "What do you think, Purity?" Kaiser slowly turned his head, the question sounding more like a prompt than a genuine piece of curiosity. He knew what answer he wanted, and Purity knew it as well. Taylor glanced sideways, watching Purity's jawline, which clenched and unclenched before speaking. It was pretty much one of the few places she could safely look at without getting spots in her vision.

    "Perhaps we should listen to what she has to say," Purity recited, as if from a playbook. It wasn't acted, it was a routine, something that they'd repeated, that they'd done. Her submission to him, his control over her. "She might have something to offer in exchange."

    Ah. That was said with that hint of distaste, the disgust leaking in, making deals, going toe to toe with mephistopheles, coming away lesser.

    That wasn't to say Purity was, by any means, a nice person. Neither was Kaiser. The two worked well as a team, they synced up, she covered for where he would otherwise have to pry; he could 'leave it to her,' allowing for him to remain the supreme figure, always in control. They knew what each other thought. They used it, and he abused it. Taylor observed, learning.

    "My second in command does have a point," Kaiser said, genially, sharklike, warmly. There was something that utterly fit him, that didn't fit those other two words, but he said it so smoothly that it almost passed by. "What could you have to offer? If you've come for my tacit approval of—a kidnapping of Rune, you'd need something extraordinary to get it."

    He was inviting Taylor to show her hand, to lay it out there—

    Taylor didn't want to.

    It didn't fit. Why was he doing this? What did he want? What did he get out of this? It was him, exerting power again, to have her have to explain her position. Was he trying to engender trust, or add some sort of beneficence to the conversation? Giving her a 'chance'?

    Hm.

    "I have something," Taylor said. "I was recently given information." As she spoke, she watched carefully for reactions, mostly on Kaiser, because anything that Purity gave her would be accompanied by quick blinking to try clear the light from her eyes. "Information on the E88, by a disgruntled colleague. Not Rune."

    "Oh?" Kaiser said, turning a gauntlet upward. "You'll excuse me if I don't believe that offhand. It would necessitate a—response."

    The air next to Purity rippled and roiled, and Taylor winced, wondering what that was doing to the chair. Intimidation tactics. Of course, it was only appropriate, given that she'd set things off by setting off a verbal pipe bomb in the room. 'I've got all your identities' was a great way to get shanked. By at least four swords coming out of the chair. Taylor wondered whether Purity's blasts would disintegrate her first, or if she'd bleed out from the puncture wounds.

    "Something I'm sure we would both regret, given time."

    "I'm sure," Kaiser said. He smiled. It wasn't a very nice smile, full of teeth, as the metal that made up his armor slowly grew, piecing together, becoming thicker, less graceful, ornamental, and flowing. More combat-oriented.

    Hm.

    In a room with a locked door, with someone who could area deny, and someone who could remove entire areas. With extreme prejudice. Kaiser was one thing, but Purity was on a completely different level.

    Taylor was fairly sure she could get an artery before Purity could react. Maybe even her jugular, or the femoral. Kaiser was a different issue.

    How could she win against someone who had the ability to—produce armor. And more armor. And blades, cornering her. He could even just make himself into a sarcophagus of metal, covering the area with blades until she was dead.

    Was she making mistakes? Some. Was that enough to resort to violence?

    Possibly.

    Taylor shrugged, giving peace a shot. "So how much is that information worth to you, then? If you kill me, you lose out any opportunity of this not hitting the air. I'm not the typical blackmailer. I'm not going to be coming back, asking for more. I want one thing, and one thing only. I want Rune."

    She leaned back in the chair, her hands in her lap. Carefully watching. Every word was an argument, a debate unto itself. Her movements were a signal, relaxed, not sweating, non-aggressive. Taylor wanted to talk it out, not to make threats until a fight occurred. She waited for their response, fingers ready to dart into her open jacket. There was so much to learn; she wasn't done talking yet.

    And Taylor still wanted to see what kind of knife Kaiser could make her.
     
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